His Witness

by Vanessa Waltz

  She squeezes me slightly and kisses me back hungrily, her tongue sweeping in my mouth. I’m so surprised that I can barely process it. I just give in to how incredible she feels. Her hand moves even lower, circling around to—

  My hand grabs her wrist as she takes the handle of the knife strapped to my waist, and she pulls away, screaming. The cellar echoes with my laughter as my nerves singe. She almost fucking got me. What would Jack say? A surge of heat rushes up my chest.

  “Nice try.”

  Melanie’s eyes widen again as I take the knife in my hands.

  “This is what you want?” I hold it out to her. “Go ahead, take it. Take it.”

  It trembles in the palm of my hand. I can see the struggle in her eyes as she debates whether to risk her life with me. Her eyes dart back toward it. I can see her muscles tensing, ready to spring.

  “Fuck you and your games.”

  Laughing, I slip the knife back into the sheath and shrug my shoulders.

  “What kind of chance would I have against a sick freak like you?”

  Her eyes narrow at me in contempt and her mouth twists in disgust, and for the first time I feel something stab at me. She’s hurled insults at me before, but she’s never really meant them.

  It’s true. I am sick.

  Still, it doesn’t feel nice to have that thrown in my face.

  I don’t say anything as I back away from her and leave the room, scooping up the knives as I leave. Then I grab the duffel bag sitting just outside the room and bring it inside. She’s still backed in the corner, her pants around her ankles. Her eyes are all over the black duffel bag.

  I take out a pair of padded handcuffs without a word, and her expression shifts.

  “I—I’m sorry, okay?”

  “No, you’re not, but you will be after a few days of this.”

  Melanie runs across the room, kicking off her jeans. I yank her back by her wrist and she screams in pain. I slap one handcuff over her wrist and then I force her to sit on the ground, handcuffing her behind her back around a support beam. Her eyes wrinkle in puzzlement as I wrap pieces of foam around her legs, and handcuff her ankles together. I wrap more around her arms, and then I tape them shut. I slip a heavy blindfold over her eyes, and then noise-canceling headphones over her ears. She won’t be able to hear, see, or feel anything for the next day or two, depending on how long I want to keep her like this.

  Imagine floating in space and not being able to see, hear, touch, taste, or feel anything for hours. Without stimulation, the mind makes up things—visions. Most people go crazy in a few days. The lack of stimulation is torture. The CIA uses it, or so I’ve heard. I’ve never had the opportunity to try it on anyone.

  Sick freak like you.

  A ripple of anger runs through me and I stand up, grabbing the empty bag as I walk back outside, shutting the light off and slamming the door. My footsteps echo loudly as I walk up the basement stairs, my mind running with poisonous thoughts. I was stupid to let it go that far with her. I shouldn’t take so many risks. She’s a federal witness and I’ve a job to do. There are several weeks until the trial.

  I have to break her down, but I can’t lose control of myself. That means touching her as little as possible. My heart sinks as I open the trapdoor and hurl the duffel bag on the crappy kitchen table. I yank open the fridge and find it stocked with supplies. I grab a couple beers, knowing that one won’t be enough.

  I already let my guard down with her once.

  It won’t happen again.

  MELANIE

  Survival mode.

  It means letting go of all emotions: your fear, anxiety, stress, hope, whatever. Letting go and doing whatever’s necessary to survive. The moment he grabbed me at the motel, I knew what was in store for me. I knew I wasn’t coming home except in a body bag.

  I fought like hell to get out of his grasp, but he knocked me out, and when I woke up I was on the floor of his SUV, handcuffed.

  I had my chance and I blew it.

  Then I expected him to kill me immediately. I thought he would take one of those knives and drive it right in my stomach. Why didn’t he?

  Confusion swirls inside my head, numbing the fear choking my breath. My mind still can’t really rejoice at the fact that I’m still alive. In my mind, I’m still dead. It’s only a matter of time.

  The few sounds I hear are my own thoughts, bouncing in my head like a cavernous echo chamber. Every other sensation is blocked out. I can’t feel a thing or hear my own voice, even when I open my mouth and force air through. Even though it hurts my throat, I can’t hear a damn thing.

  I feel the cold and the rough surface of the support beam on my back. They’re the only things reminding me what happened to me. I strain my wrists against the handcuffs, not feeling a thing with the foam wrapped around them. My throat vibrates with frustration.

  How could I be so stupid? Jack sent Tommy after me to settle the score. Of course he would. Melissa assured me I would be safe with the FBI, but Jack’s people nabbed me right out in the open.

  Tommy freaking O’Sullivan. The same guy who asked me out dozens of times, who I rejected dozens of times. The man with the awful reputation—he’s the one who grabbed me. Now I’m in that nut job’s clutches, and he’s going to play with me before he eats me.

  I’m fucked.

  My stomach clenches as I remember his hands all over my naked skin, how it heated under his touch and the electricity between our lips. I expected him to sink that knife between my ribs, but he didn’t.

  He’s fucking with me. He made me wet and touched me where he had no right to touch. The way he laughed in my face when he felt my arousal all over his hands brings a surge of self-loathing in my chest.

  Fuck him. Twisted, evil piece of shit.

  Bitter, icy tears slide out of my eyes. The way I see it, I have a few options:

  1. Attempt an escape.

  2. Build a rapport with Tommy, and then attempt an escape.

  3. Fight Tommy, die anyway.

  I exhale through my mouth, licking my dry lips. I’ve no chance winning a fight against an experienced killer like Tommy, so number three is off limits. An escape attempt now would just set me back while his guard is up. Clearly I’m meant to be spared for a while. I have to wait for the opportune moment, when he thinks I’m safely under his control. Maybe I could manipulate him. He likes me. He wants to fuck me. I could use that to my advantage. I could get to him, maybe even get him to care for me.

  Yeah, right.

  But at least I could get him to maybe let his guard down. I nearly did just now.

  Then something wonderful strikes my brain. He won’t kill me. Not yet. Not until the trial date. That’s why I’m still alive. They need my testimony to change. They need me, because the feds have enough evidence to put them away, even if I disappear now.

  I need to appear as though I’m submitting to Tommy’s demands, even if he disgusts me. Even if the thought of touching him makes me want to throw up.

  Angry, desperate thoughts keep me occupied for hours, or what I suspect are hours. They circle around my brain, over and over. Then boredom settles in. Stifling, inescapable boredom. I’m floating in space, a sea of black nothing for endless miles. I open my mouth to scream—maybe the noise will attract his attention. Struggling against the handcuffs is fruitless, but there’s still nothing. Nothing, nothing, and even more nothing.

  Fucking hell, I’m already losing my mind. Where the hell is he?

  There’s nothing except the clawing hunger in my belly that tells me I’ve been locked up for hours. I skipped dinner, so it’s impossible to say how long it has been. I try counting in my head. There’s nothing to distract me, so I count until two thousand, and then the boredom suffocates me again.

  HELP! HELP!

  Is it in my head, or can I hear my voice, raw with pain? Suddenly there’s a sound that makes my heart thunder in my chest. My dad’s low voice, sobbing.

  “Don’t hurt me anymore!
Please, I can’t take it! I’ll tell you anything—”

  DAD!

  That fucking monster took my parents, too. I can hear him next door, crying in pain. Tommy’s cruel voice echoes in my ears.

  “You should have told your daughter what would happen to her parents if she talked. Don’t you communicate?”

  FUCK YOU!

  All thoughts of manipulating Tommy drown under my towering wave of fury. I want to rip him limb from limb. How dare he hurt them? They’re innocent. They don’t deserve any of this.

  A high, shrill female sound makes me retch and I try to tear myself from the handcuffs, sobbing. I can’t hear any of it, of course. Wait, what? I can’t hear, so how could I have heard my dad?

  Confused, tears still itching on my face, I sit against the support beam. It’s possible that the headphones turned off. Perhaps he has a switch somewhere, to turn them off and on.

  Or I could be losing my mind.

  I’m not losing my mind. I heard them.

  My teeth grind together as another small shriek pierces my ears, coming from the wall across me. I scream for his name. My voice vibrates in my head.

  Then finally light explodes in the room. I see it through the blindfold and I shut my eyes painfully and bend my head toward the ground to study the porous cement floor beneath the blindfold, slowly opening my lids. My body jumps violently when I feel hands on my head, tugging the blindfold. There were no footsteps alerting me to another person’s presence.

  That’s when I realize that everything I experienced was just a vision—or a dream. Jesus Christ, I’m already losing it and it’s only been, what? A day? He pulls the headphones off my head, and I hear my raw voice still calling out for Tommy.

  Rough fingers grasp my chin and force me to look up into his burning eyes. “Have you learned your lesson?”

  I want to spit in his face.

  “Yes.”

  The fog clears from my head, but the terror of the possibility of my parents being held here doesn’t disappear. They found me. They could’ve found them, too.

  Stick with the plan.

  He reaches around my back and uncuffs my wrists, tearing the foam away from my arms. My muscles scream as my arms bend to my sides. They’re sore after being stuck in that awkward position for hours.

  Finally confronted with my captor, I grind my teeth together as a sickening feeling leaves me clammy and cold.

  It was wishful thinking to believe that he needed me alive. Maybe he doesn’t.

  Tommy changed into a casual button-up shirt and jeans. When he leans in, I can smell the shampoo he used and a bit of that intoxicating cedar note. His face is still smooth shaven. I need to study him, learn all I can about what makes him tick.

  The last handcuff flies off my legs and I sit there for a moment, hair hanging around my face. I breathe heavily.

  “Get up.”

  He speaks in a high, cold voice I’ve never heard before.

  Don’t be afraid.

  I let tears gather in my eyes before I obey his command and then I get a glimpse of his broad chest and I let myself fall into his arms, sobbing. My arms tighten around his back as I nuzzle my head into his neck, sniffing loudly. He doesn’t move a muscle as I tremble in his arms.

  Act upset.

  “I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t do that to me again.”

  It’s hard to pretend to be weepy when what I really want to do is slam my knee into his groin, especially for what he did to me yesterday. My body shakes with unbridled rage, but I hope Tommy mistakes it for fear.

  The sound of my shaking voice fills the cold dungeon. He doesn’t respond to my distress. He doesn’t even make a sound. Under my fingers, his body feels way too hard. Then Tommy grabs my arms from his back and pushes me slightly, hazel eyes filled with suspicion.

  “Let’s go.”

  Damn it. Didn’t work.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Shut up.”

  I stumble forward as he shoves me. Suddenly he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my neck back as if he’s about to slit my throat.

  Jesus.

  “Get fucking moving.”

  “Tommy, please—”

  “What did I say? No begging.”

  There’s a whirlwind of blank walls as he spins me around at the top of the stairs. We enter a closet, Tommy’s hands roughly shoving me through. Then the door opens and he thrusts me forward. My hands fly out as I land on the linoleum floor of what looks like the kitchen.

  I turn around on my hands and knees to see Tommy advancing toward me, a cruel smile on his face.

  He’s going to kill me right now.

  Naked, helpless, I gasp for air, crawling on my hands and knees toward the chair. My heart pounds in my chest. Everything disappears when you think you’re going to die. Everything. My disgust at crawling on all fours like a dog, my love for my parents, the logic in my head, telling me that there’s no way he’ll spare me, all of it drops away. Every cell inside me screams for me to do whatever it takes to save my skin.

  Beg him. Touch him. Do something!

  “Please, I don’t want to die! Don’t kill me!”

  He stands above me like a terrible god, his hands shoved deep inside his pockets. “I will if you don’t shut the fuck up and stop begging me.”

  I make a shrill sound that I hardly recognize as my voice, but he smiles and stoops down to my level. I flinch away from him when he reaches out with a finger and strokes my cheek.

  “Get up.”

  There’s no feeling in my legs. I grasp the chair sitting next to me and haul myself upright, my stomach caving in on itself as he gets up with me and pushes me into the chair.

  “T-Tommy, I’m sorry. Tell Jack I’m sorry.”

  “Jack doesn’t give a shit about you.”

  I bite my lip hard enough to make a small tear. My instinct screams to beg him for my life, but he’s already warned me enough times.

  “Why am I here?”

  He places both hands on the arms of my chair and leans in so that I’m inhaling his breath. “Now why would I tell you that?”

  Stunned, I sit back and blink furiously. Keep it together.

  “This is about the trial, right? You want me to change my testimony?”

  “Right now, what I want is for you to keep your fucking mouth shut. From now on, you don’t speak unless I ask you a direct question. Understand?”

  My mouth trembles for a moment. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He twists his hands around the arms, hazel eyes still boring into mine. “Now, I could keep you in the basement for twelve hours a day if I want. Obey me, and you’ll get to stay upstairs.”

  So I’m basically to be treated like a dog. The clenching, horrible feeling in my chest loosens as I slowly breathe air into my lungs. They’re not killing me immediately.

  “Believe me, you want to stay upstairs.”

  “Can I at least get some clothes?”

  A low chuckle reverberates from his throat as his eyes slowly strip me up and down. Heat rolls from them. “You just spoke out of turn, but I’ll let it slide. Maybe you’ll get clothes later, if you behave.”

  My hands ball into fists.

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  He tugs my arm and I rise to my feet, having no idea where the hell we’re going. Tommy slides up behind me, and a cold hand grasps the back of my neck as he leads me upstairs. I have no idea where he’s taking me, and blood keeps rushing to my head, making me sway on the steps.

  He won’t hurt you, he won’t hurt you, he won’t hurt you.

  We reach the top of the stairs and pass by a bedroom, which I assume is his, and then he leads me into a white bathroom. A tub filled with hot water. He just wants me to take a bath.

  Thank God.

  Tommy nudges me inside and closes the door behind him.

  “Take your panties off.”

  I turn around, facing him as my heart begins to thud against my chest. My head fi
lls with visions of me forcing his head under the water until he drowns, and then I make myself to drop my gaze from his steady, relaxed eyes.

  “Take them off,” he repeats. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

  A smile flickers on Tommy’s smooth face, and even though it’s condescending I feel a swooping sensation in my body. Suddenly I’m aware of how alone we are and how damn quiet it is. I can hear his breathing, slightly faster than mine. There’s a razor on the sink that I could seize. I could slash his throat. He follows my eyes and his smile widens.

  “Go for it.”

  I won’t fall for it. For all I know, he planted it there to see if I would take it.

  Without breaking his gaze, I bend over and slide my panties off my legs, watching how his eyes flick to my pussy and how he clenches his hands into fists to keep himself from touching me.

  “Get—” he clears his throat, “get in the bath.”

  Inwardly smiling to myself, I turn around and hear him slowly exhale as I walk toward the long, white tub and slowly slip into the hot water. I hiss with pleasure as it instantly floods my skin with warmth. Tommy sits on the edge of the tub and watches me with a look filled with ravenous hunger.

  Now’s my chance.

  “So how did you like sensory deprivation? It’s not what I usually use on the people I—ah—deal with.”

  The way he says it bring a chill over my skin, even though I’m submerged in a hot bath. “What do you—what happens to the people?”

  “I kill them,” he says, giving me an icy smile.

  “Why would you tell me that?”

  He shrugs, still smiling. “It doesn’t matter if you know. Not anymore.”

  Cold disgust rises in my throat. I fucking hate him. If he wanted me dead, he’d have done it already. All this intimidation and fear is just to keep me in line.

  It’s working like a charm.

  “You need me alive.” My voice wavers. As much as I believe my theory, I can’t shake the fact that Tommy is a man who’d love to wash his hands in my blood.

  He cocks his head. “Who says I need you alive? Maybe I’m just fucking around with you. Jack gives me the people he wants to disappear, and I take my sweet time breaking them before I finish the job.”